Going Home
by Kavery12
Summary: When lost, it is always best to trust in man's best friend. An Impala 'verse story dedicated to Dakota.


I do not own Star Trek 2009 or Supernatural

* * *

I hope you all won't mind that I delay the next installment of _The Weight of Command_ to bring you a very special story about a very special someone. My best friend Keyrani found out that she is going to lose her dog Dakota to bone cancer tomorrow. Sadly, I have not had the pleasure of making Dakota's acquaintance in person (although talking to a dog via Skype is always highly entertaining) but I feel like I've known him for ages.

So this short story is dedicated to Dakota, the best friend I never knew but loved anyway.

* * *

"Sam! _Sam!_ SAMMY!" Nine-year-old Dean Winchester's voice was growing shrill as he wandered somewhat systematically through the thick forest. He knew the bug-hunting expedition had been a bad idea but the teacher was so damned enthusiastic and it had drawn Sam in like the proverbial moth to a flame. Dean hadn't been interested and quite frankly the thought of turning Sam over to a responsible adult for a few hours so Dean could go play the arcade was so very tempting. Even Dean couldn't be mom, dad and brother 24-7 without going completely bonkers.

So Dean had had three blissful hours playing 3-D Pac-man and then showed up at the rendezvous site with the other parents. To his dismay, the teacher had dashed out of the forest white-faced, dragging a line of bewildered children after him.

Of course Sam had seen something interesting.

Of course he had skipped off blithely into the forest, budding scientist that he was.

Of course he'd gotten thoroughly lost.

The teacher was going to alert Children's Aid but Dean had persuaded him to call their Starfleet liaison instead, who had lots of prior experience with the Winchesters. Mrs. Beane had promised to give Dean until sundown and then she'd call the sheriff's office.

He was going to do something violent to his kid brother. Probably tie the twerp to a very colourful, energetic clown while force-feeding him boiled turnip mashed in peanut butter. Yeah, that'd serve Sam right. And then Dean would paste clown pictures in all Sam's science books and super-glue Velcro onto the big-kid, lace-up shoes Sam was so proud of. "Sam! Where are ya, ya little pain in the frackin'…" Dean's rant trailed off into a worried string of inventive, highly uncomplimentary names as he poked through yet another bush.

Knowing Dean's luck, he was probably going to get poison ivy and Sam would laugh.

Dean could take that conclusion like a man as long as he found a dirty, grimy, unharmed Sam clutching some beetle bug or spider before the dew fell.

* * *

Sam looked up from his inspection of a fine specimen of _phasmatodea_, more commonly known as the stick bug. He loved the fact that bugs had great big long names that made absolutely no sense to him. Sam was trying to count the insect's limbs when he realized the shadows were falling deep and dark in the forest around him. Silence suddenly battered at his eardrums and he realized he was completely and utterly alone.

Panic didn't set in. Sam took a deep breath, gently set his newest acquisition in its little plastic habitat box and snapped the lid shut. He then sat down to think this over, clinging with desperation to his rational line of thought and staving off sheer terror with force of will. It was no small feat for a child who had only just learned to tie his shoes last week.

"Dean will come," he said aloud, trying to sound brave. The trees swallowed up his small voice and Sam gulped hard. For all that he was a stubborn, logical little cuss, Sam Winchester wasn't very big at all and the forest seemed ready to eat him alive. "Dean will come," he repeated, this time with a quaver in his voice.

Wrapping his arms around his knees, Sam sat in the warmest, brightest spot he could find and watched in misery as it shrank around him. Dusk set in and Sam slapped irritably at determined mosquitoes. At least it was midsummer and he wouldn't have to worry about freezing. Just getting eaten by bears or wolves or cougars or perhaps a very hungry raccoon.

That not-so-pleasant thought combined with the last gleam of sunlight deserting him caused tears to well up in his eyes and Sam let out a small sob, curling into a ball. Dean was taking a very long time to find him.

With terrifying suddenness, a twig snapped in front of him and Sam jumped at least a foot in the air with a shriek of fear. "Go _away_!" he shouted, scrambling back against the tree.

A friendly whine was his reply and Sam peeked out of one squeezed shut eye. A big white dog, some sort of Husky mix with soulful brown eyes glimmered in the fading light. He was parked on his haunches, surveying the quivering ball of humanity as if his sole mission in life was to cheer up Sam Winchester. The dog definitely wasn't a stray, wearing a comfortably worn leather collar with jingling tags, which reassured Sam. Reaching out a trembling hand, he patted the dog's shoulder.

Immediately, a warm slobbery pink tongue swiped across his face, eliciting a wobbly giggle. That giggle caused the dog to scoot closer, panting sociably and bathing Sam in the horrendous bad breath universal to dogs everywhere. Wrapping an arm around his new-found comrade, Sam flicked on his little wrist unit and in its feeble illuminating beam, could just barely make out the writing on the tags. He was pretty good at reading, especially if he could sound the word out. "Da-kota."

The dog slurped Sam's face with another sloppy kiss and Sam grinned. "Dakota. Koda for short!"

Dakota was presumably very impressed with this kid's sharpness because he curled up beside Sam with a contented sigh, plunking his head on Sam's lap companionably. Naturally, his ears were well within Sam's reach for a good ear rub because every dog worth his salt knows that humans find ear rubs therapeutic. Not that it has anything to do with the pleasure Dakota would get out of it, no.

Sam found himself spilling all his fears to his patient listener, beginning with getting lost and then going on to the bigger, less defined troubles a child his age shouldn't have to deal with. "Cuz you know, Dean's the bestest big brother in the whole wide world but he keeps calling people bad names when they make him mad and I'm scared people will take him away from me because lots of times people don't _understand_. I think Dean's scared too and that's why he's mad. He's never mad at me though, not really. Even when I eat the last of the Lucky Charms and I spill the milk and I get lost."

Dakota listened to every word, alert ears twitching at the rise and fall cadence of Sam's voice. Slowly, the words began to disjoint, interrupted by yawns as Sam decided it wouldn't hurt to prop his head on the closest furry pillow. Then he slid to the ground, hugging his box of bugs and placing his vulnerable back to Dakota's reliable bulk. Soft snores soon drifted from behind Dakota. Fear had given way to trust, which had given way to exhaustion.

The dog sat alert, keeping careful watch until he caught wind of a very faint sound.

* * *

"Come on God. Help me find Sam and I swear I'll never eat another Lucky Charm again. Tree as my witness," Dean bargained desperately, gesturing to the biggest oak specimen in sight. He didn't want to think about what would happen when he found Sam because he was pointedly ignoring a small niggling voice at the back of his head that annoyingly sing-songed the fact he was at least as lost as Sam by this point.

But that was okay because everything would be better when he found Sam. Everything. There was no alternative.

He tripped over a log and was sent sprawling to the ground. When he picked himself up and spat out forest debris, he let loose a desperate cry of "SAAAM!" that he could have sworn was audible on the moon.

When not even an echo bounced back, he plunked himself down on the traitorous log that had dared to impede his progress and tried to think without falling apart into a childish mess.

His stomach growled and he reflected that at least Sam would have his snacks and a massive bottle of water. No one could say he didn't look after his kid brother, not even when said brother complained about Dean being worse than most mothers.

Dean was just wiping away something brought on by dust in his eye when a white shape materialized in the forest. Dean froze. "Sam?" he breathed in disbelieving hope.

The shape bounded towards him and after a second, his heart plummeted to his shoes. Unless Sam had suddenly developed the art of running through the forest on all four limbs, that wasn't Sam.

It was a big white Husky-mix dog, friendly as all get out judging from the expression on his face and the rapidly beating tail. "Hi boy," Dean greeted unenthusiastically. Any other time, he would have been easily cajoled into making much of the dog but Sam was missing right now and everything else paled in comparison.

But he wasn't too out of it to notice that the dog was acting funny. First he woofed softly at Dean, then tugged gently at a shoe. "Dude, what the hell?" Dean demanded but the dog ignored him, jumping agilely over the log and bumping Dean off his seat. "Damn dog," he cursed, catching the mutt's collar and squinting at the name. "Dakota. Dakota, that's you? Dakota, get the hell away from here!" he shouted, shoving the dog firmly but not cruelly.

Ignoring the push, Dakota barked again, this time with urgency and Dean frowned, reluctantly pushing himself to his feet. Dakota bounced away and turned back, barking again. "I'm crazy," Dean told himself. Even at nine years old he knew that Dakota was just a dog. But still, it seemed that the dog knew something he didn't and wanted Dean to follow him.

"What the hell. I'm lost already." Dean shrugged fatalistically and chased the dog. Dakota drifted ahead of him like a ghost, always just out of reach. Dean tripped over branches, got cut by thorns and walked into a very large spider web but he followed with the dogged determination inherited by all Winchesters until he spotted Dakota's furry tail disappearing around a tree.

With a soft chuffing sound, Dakota was furiously licking away at something.

And then, more welcome than a chorus of angels, a sleepy voice irritably struck weak-kneed relief into Dean. "Koda, go'way. 'M tired." A tousled brown head, just visible in the growing gloom, showed around the tree.

"_Sam!_" Dean pile-drove his little brother into a suffocating hug, mashing his face into Sam's hair and feeling bony shoulders poking into his stomach. "Sam," he repeated feverishly.

"Dean? _Dean_!" Sam's short arms clutched at any part of his brother that was available, clinging on with all the strength of an octopus. There was a silent minute of hugs and reassurance as Dakota sat back with a very satisfied, doggy grin.

Then Dean shoved his brother back at arm's length. "Samuel Winchester, I swear to you on your big science book that if you _ever_ scare me like that again, I will personally ensure that every single Lucky Charm in the known galaxy disintegrates. And then I'll hunt down every copy of the recipe and eradicate it from existence. _Do you understand_?"

Sam nodded sheepishly. When Dean broke out the big words, you knew he was serious. To distract his brother from professions of galaxy-ending doom, Sam wrapped Dakota in a big hug and asked "So which way's home?"

He watched in interest as his brother surveyed the forest knowledgeably. "This way," Dean asserted almost immediately and marched off. Sam bounced along in his wake but Dakota stayed rooted to the spot.

"Coming, Koda?" Sam asked, turning to urge Dakota along.

Dakota didn't budge. "Dean, I think Koda wants us to go that way," Sam pointed out.

"What does the dog know?" was the grumpy response.

Sam eyed his brother, who was doing that thing with his hand, that thing where he rubbed the back of his neck. "You're lost," Sam deduced instantly and bluntly.

"I am _not_."

"Koda's not lost. Dogs never get lost. We should follow Koda. Koda found me and you, didn't he?"

Dean turned to chew out his brother about how Dean Winchester never ever got lost and would definitely get them home without the help of a mangy mongrel when Sam rubbed his eyes with a grimy fist, the other firmly locked around the dog's neck.

Soft brown canine eyes watched Dean knowingly as Sam wavered tiredly, leaning up against Dakota for support.

Dean had to admit it – he had absolutely no idea which way to go and he was getting tired himself. Darkness was falling in earnest and their best protector was the big white dog. "Okay, okay, you win," Dean muttered ungraciously to both the dog and the kid. "Come here Sammy," he ordered, swinging his brother up onto his back. "Lead the way mutt and if you get us even more lost than we are right now I'll turn your white hide into a rug."

Dakota didn't seem concerned by this prospect at all, trotting along at a pace Dean could match easily. Instead of dashing through bushes and over logs like before, Dakota led the exhausted Winchesters through the soft summer night with a shepherding dog's care and attention, the journey taking on a dream-like quality.

It seemed as if Dean covered the distance in a blink, although it had to have been the better part of two or three miles. When he stepped into the parking lot and the artificial glow of the street lights, he heaved a heart-felt sigh of relief. From here on out it was a piece of pie. Even if he left his bike here, it was a ten minute walk to their house that Dean could have made blindfolded.

"You coming boy?" he asked the dog, fully intending to adopt a third member of their small family. Dakota hovered around the edges of the forest, wagging his tail happily but making no move to follow.

"_Dakota, where are you, you stupid mutt?_" a worried girl called from just within the forest. "_I swear I'm going to leave without you!_"

Dakota let his tongue loll out in a sheepish smile and Dean smirked. "Dude, you are _so_ going to catch it."

Dakota seemed to shrug, as if saying "What can you do?"

Dean swallowed hard and made his voice firm. "Go home, Dakota! Go home!" Without looking back and without inviting the dog home like he wanted, Dean began trudging towards his empty dark house, the precious snoring bundle on his back all he really needed.

The big white dog barked just once in farewell and whisked back into the brush, disappearing into the hazy summer's night.


End file.
